


A Normal Life, Of Tantrums And Storms

by mayquita



Series: A Normal Life [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Future, F/M, cs married, daddy killian, mommy emma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayquita/pseuds/mayquita
Summary: Canon Future. Killian and Emma have been married for ten years and have two children, Charlie and Hope. They are happy living a normal life, but when Killian faces one of his worst experiences as a father, old demons come to the surface.





	A Normal Life, Of Tantrums And Storms

**Author's Note:**

> Still on vacation, but it seems that my muse is still with me. I've been thinking about this story for some time and it's now when I've finally decided to write it. Daddy Killian is my downfall so this is my particular version of Killian as a father. I tried to write it in a realistic way, considering my experiences as a mother (although I don't own a ship, sadly). This fic could be considered as part of the series A Normal Life, although the two stories are independent, they are even written in different verbal tenses.
> 
> (Note: I didn’t mention it in the fic, so here is an explanation. Killian learned to drive a while ago and he got a car adapted for his hook)

Everything happened in an instant. A moment before the sky was clear and the next moment thick dark clouds covered it, in clear omen of the storm that was to come.

He cursed himself for his folly. The urge to escape for at least a few hours and his still persistent headache had clouded his mind so much that he had not even bothered to check the weather. And this was the result. Away from home, alone on the high seas and no possibility to alert his family, since he had left the phone in his cabin. Just as the situation was, it was not his plan to abandon the helm to try to get it, leaving the ship to its fate.

 _Bloody hell._ The air that seconds before had been nothing more than a sea breeze had changed to an almost hurricane wind, striking furiously against the ship's sails. The previously calm tide had now turned into a surge breaking against the Jolly Roger as thick raindrops fell on the deck, leaving him drenched and hindering his vision. The memories left by his children at the helm in the form of stickers and engraved words appeared like a blur now before his eyes.

 _Damn irony_... He thought bitterly as he hurried, moving back and forth from the deck with the agility learned from his years of experience to make sure everything was under control. A few minutes earlier he had had the ocean at his disposal, the pull of traveling as far as possible stronger than ever. And now all he wanted, all he craved, was to reach his family. And he would get it, his ship had been through worse experiences and both had survived, so a bloody storm was not going to be the one to keep him apart from the life he had longed for.

* * *

_A few hours earlier._

A pulsating headache pulled Killian out of his sleep, leaving him with a sense of uneasiness. It had been years since he'd woken up with that overwhelming feeling, a continuous hammering in his temples as if someone were digging a hole in his head to reach his brain. He remained motionless on the bed, his eyes tightly shut, trying to ignore the pain and instead focusing on the sensations around him.

His wife lay asleep beside him. He did not need to open his eyes to feel the warmth of her body close to his. A quiet silence enveloped them, no screams, no crying, no complaints, which meant that their children were still lost in the dream world. He hoped they would have one of these rare mornings in which everything flowed quietly. Given his situation, he didn't know if he could handle a morning session of tantrums.

It was almost comical, the fact that he feared to go through this migraine with his children more than when he sailed on the high seas surrounded by pirates. On those occasions, when the storm raged or a danger in the form of a rival pirate stalked them, his headache was forgotten for a while. It was not until later, when he found the shelter in his cabin, when the migraine made an appearance, draining the little energy he still retained after the battle. Rum was his ally on those occasions. He drank until he almost lost consciousness, drowning the pain as the bitter liquid crawled down his throat until it reached his bloodstream.

Instead of rum, the remedy used in this realm against pain were medicines, those little pills of dubious appearance, the closest thing to a magical object that existed in this world. It was strange, he was aware that he was full of inconsistencies. Although he would never hesitate to use medications with his children and relied heavily on their pediatrician, he was reluctant to take those pills himself. Especially when, after all, it was only a headache. He had gone through the amputation of his hand with no more help than alcohol. He could cope with a bloody migraine.  
   
A raucous noise brought him back to reality, making even more insistent the pressure on his head. He had to stifle a gasp that threatened to escape his throat. His brain had a hard time reacting at first, but his mind finally recognized the sound. It was coming from the alarm clock on Emma's bedside table. Under normal circumstances he'd have already gotten up by starting his daily routine before the alarm sounded. This time, however, he felt too weak.  
   
To his relief, Emma soon deactivated the infernal sound. His wife stretched out on the bed and curled up beside him, her eyes still closed, a content smile on her lips.  
   
"Uhm, you're still in bed, is everything okay?" She whispered, her voice hoarse still with vestiges of her sleep.  
   
He didn't answer at once, hesitating to confess his discomfort. In the end he decided that there was no need to burden her with an additional concern. "Aye, I did not sleep well last night, that's all."  
   
Emma then opened her eyes, resting her head on her hands over his chest. Her brow furrowed slightly as her puffy eyes scanned him, trying to read inside. "Is there something you're worried about?"  
   
"I can’t listen to the kids, that's a bit worrisome at this time." He joked in a light tone, accompanying his words with a reassuring smile. "Better if I take a look and wake them up before it gets late." He got out of bed hoping to avoid Emma's scrutiny since he was sure she was not buying his excuses.  
   
"Okay, I'll go get in the shower then." She reached out and brushed his lips with hers, her hand gently caressing his cheek.  
   
This was their usual routine. Although they normally had the same shift to spend most of their time with family, there were days when one of the two had the day off while the other went to work. Today was one of those days. He was in charge of taking the kids to school while Emma headed for the station. But before, he had to carry out a difficult mission, to get his children to dress and have breakfast in time to get to school.  
   
His headache seemed to give him a break while he tried to wake the children up. He was aware that the relief was momentary as Hope, his precious and stubborn five-year-old daughter seemed to have awakened on one of those days when she was ready to fight everything and everyone. Her pursed lips and a sullen expression, a clear indication that it was not going to be an easy task to deal with.

Indeed, breakfast time was the moment when his daughter decided to test her boundaries.

"I want pop tarts," Hope demanded, pushing away the plate with a toast and her orange juice, a grimace of disgust on her face.

Killian let out a deep exhalation as he pinched the bridge of his nose, the pain twitching again in his head. "Remember, there’s a rule. Pop tarts are just for weekends and special occasions. Today is a school day, little love." He knew beforehand that he was not going to get anything, but he still tried.

"I don’t care, I want pop tarts." Hope crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a challenging look. Beside her, Charlie, his eight-year-old son, was having his breakfast in silence. At least one of his children was calm and obedient, he thought with some relief.

Killian sighed, trying not to lose his temper. "No. Eat your breakfast or don’t. But there will be no pop tarts today." He kept his voice calm but firm as he spoke to his daughter. She made a gesture to push her plate further apart and turned her head, avoiding his gaze.

 _That stubborn lassie.._. It was not necessary to ask after whom she had gotten her temper. His little girl was a copy of her mother in every respect. He needed coffee, and he was even considering taking one of those bloody pills; because how could it have been harder dealing with his daughter than with an entire crew?

Just then, though, Emma came hurrying down the stairs. In spite of all, the corners of his lips rose slightly as he saw the beauty of his wife. She was radiant, fresh after her shower and full of energy. She was late, too, as usual.

Without a word, Killian handed her a mug of coffee, which she accepted with a smile and a peck on his lips. Then, she went to her two children to say goodbye to them with kisses and loving words.

"Mommy, Mommy, can I have a pop tart, please?" Hope didn’t give up. Although he could not see her, since he was preparing the lunch bags on the counter, with his back to the breakfast table, he could imagine her angelic face matching her sweet innocent voice. Good thing Emma would never succumb…

"Sure, kid. See you later, bye."

His blood froze in his veins as he listened to his wife, to the point of almost choking on the coffee he was drinking. A mixture of feelings seized him in an instant. He felt defeated, betrayed, while a growing anger made his appearance. Before Emma left, he had to do something. "I'll be back in a moment, behave well." Killian glanced at the children, enough to see the triumphant expression on his daughter's face. Then he followed Emma, his arms on either side of his torso, his right hand curled into a fist as he clenched his jaw.

"Emma!" He called her as he went down the outer stairs. Emma turned to hear him, her smile still lingering on her face, totally oblivious to what had just happened. It was at that moment that he realized he did not have enough energy to start a fight.

"What have I forgotten this time?"

He swallowed hard, dragging his anger as his lips curled into a grin in order to hide his feelings. "You forgot to tell me goodbye..." He pointed to her hand. "And you still have your mug."

Her eyes widened and then she put her free hand to her forehead, tapping it gently with her palm. "Oh God, I need to get up earlier." She handed him the mug and captured his lips in a kiss that acted as a balm to soothe his troubled heart. He allowed himself to be lost in their kiss for a few seconds, reluctant to abandon her lips.

"I really need to go." She whispered, her warm breath caressing his lips. When they finally pulled apart, Emma cupped his head with her hands, an inquisitive look on her face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The corners of his lips rose, drawing a half smile. "Aye, love, I just have a slight headache." He waved his hand as a sign of downplay.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "And you're not going to take anything for the pain, are you?" She rolled her eyes and then pointed at him. "You're incorrigible. You know you don’t have to prove anything to me. Take the pain pills if your headache gets worse. I mean it, Killian." She warned as she walked towards her bug.

Killian waited until she drove away and then headed back inside the house. In his absence, his children had decided it was a good idea for _Jolly_ and _Roger_ , the family cats, to accompany them to the kitchen table. They knew there was a rule about it, but it seemed evident that, at least for today, the kids had decided that the rules were there to break them. He sighed heavily. It was going to be a long, long day.

* * *

"You are lying!"

“What? Of course not!”

“Liar, liar, liar!”

"Papa! Tell Hope it's true!

Killian did his best to ignore the cries of his children from the back seat of his car. But they were making it very, very difficult. The drive was a real nightmare. Even Charlie, who was normally a quiet boy, had been carried away by his sister's temper and now the two of them were fighting over any nonsense. They were driving him crazy.

He counted to ten and turned on the radio, in an attempt to placate his little beasts, regretting it at once when the first notes of a song traveled straight to his headache making it worse.

"Papa, tell her I'm right!”

"No! You're a bloody liar!"

He could not do it anymore. The little patience he kept was over at the moment when he listened in horror as his daughter used the word _bloody_ against her brother. Taking advantage of the fact that they were standing at a red light, he turned to them, pouring out all his frustration and contained anger, his voice filled with fury.

"Enough! From now on, I don’t want to hear your voices until we get to school."

At the very moment the words came out of his mouth, a wave of regret washed over him. Their eyes widened first with surprise, but Killian also detected a hint of fear. Even Hope's chin began to tremble.

His children were watching him as any of the people he captured would look upon the fearsome Captain Hook. He was horrified and ashamed. From the very moment he knew he was to become a father, he made a promise to himself, he would work hard to make his children proud of him, to become the father he never had. And now a simple headache had gotten him to throw it all away.

"I ..." He made an apologetic attempt but was interrupted by the horn of the vehicle behind them. Killian looked ahead and saw that the light was already green, so he had no choice but to continue driving. A dead silence was hovering over them from that moment on. He glanced sideways at the rearview mirror, his son Charlie looked crestfallen, his gaze lost through the car window. Hope, however, had her forehead wrinkled and her chin raised in a haughty expression.

When they finally got to school, Killian parked and hurried to open the door for his children. He began another attempt to apologize but was greeted by Hope's indifference.

"I hate you." His daughter's hurtful words were straight to his heart, like an arrow. Even so, he didn't have time to reply, because she immediately turned in the direction of her class, without looking back.

Charlie, on the other hand, remained at his side, his blue eyes, a copy of his, looking at him with a warm expression. "I’m sorry, Daddy, we shouldn’t have fought before."

His heart fell to his stomach. He couldn't bear to see his son apologize when he should be the one doing it. He bent down to keep up with Charlie. "No, I'm the one who's sorry, my boy. I should not have yelled at you like that."  
   
Charlie shrugged. "It's okay, we all have a bad day sometimes, and as for Hope, don’t worry, she'll be fine."  
   
"I hope so, lad.” Killian ruffled his son's hair affectionately, earning a smile from Charlie. He waved a goodbye and headed toward his class.  
   
And so, for the first time since he woke up, Killian found himself alone, with a few hours ahead and with a sense of agitation that, instead of disappearing, was increasing as time passed. The confrontation with his children in the car had not helped at all, quite the opposite. He needed to do something to try to clear his mind and pull himself together. Fortunately, he knew what could help him in this matter.  
   
Thus, in a few minutes, he reached his destination, his loyal and old companion waiting for him, rocking majestically on the dock. After a quick visit to his cabin to make sure everything was in order, he hurried up to the deck of the Jolly Roger, preparing the sails and other gear to sail for a while. He hoped that the exercise of maneuvering the ship, the sea, and the breeze would mitigate his discomfort, both physical and emotional.  
   
Sailing worked, at least while he was concentrating on leaving the port without incident. But once he went into the open sea his uneasiness returned. He knew he shouldn't do that, that he shouldn't let his evil thoughts reign in his mind, but he felt weak to fight them. Perhaps that was the most convenient thing, he thought trying to convince himself, to let all his worries come to the surface, to expel them somehow instead of burying them with the risk that they would reappear at the least opportune moment.  
   
That's why he allowed himself a few minutes to discharge all his frustrations and fears. Though hidden deep in his soul, he had always had the feeling that sooner or later he would awaken from that idyllic dream that had meant experiencing the life he had always longed for. Though he knew in his heart that his daughter didn't mean what she had told him, her harsh words had plunged deep into his heart. He felt as if his bubble of happiness was about to explode. Maybe that was what someone like him, a former villain who had lived too long in the dark deserved. He had worked hard to win Emma's heart and to become an exemplary father, but the fear of failing, of not being enough always existed.  
   
Killian shook his head, trying to get out all those thoughts. Instead, he focused again on the sensations offered by sailing. Before him, the infinite sea full of promises of a life of adventure, the wind caressing his skin, dragging with it all his frustrations. The speed as he surfed the waves making him feel invincible, with the ability to conquer everything he set out to do. The adventurous tug that lay dormant after so many years anchored to earth, was now awakening urging him to sail faster and farther. He felt free for an instant, before him a whole world of possibilities.

That feeling was short-lived, though. The moment his eyes drifted to the helm, every longing for adventure vanished. His heart almost stopped when he realized the meaning of what he had in front of him. Stickers of princesses and fantastic creatures, words etched on the wood, a continuous reminder of his children's countless visits to the Jolly Roger, as if they wanted to make their own, somehow, his beloved ship. And of course it was, not only his ship, his few belongings, all of him, belonged to his family now.

And at last, he realized it. He didn't need to sail again to feel alive. The most important journey of his life had begun in the moment in which he decided to share his life with Emma and she accepted him. He was an imperfect man, full of both physical and emotional scars, but his children, for some reason, loved him that way. His only concern would always be to ensure the welfare and happiness of his family. That was now his adventure.

He had to go home, apologize to his little girl and talk to Emma about what happened. He maneuvered the helm, steering the ship back toward Storybrooke. It was then that the first drops fell on the deck. At first, they were only a few sporadic thick drops. But he just needed to cast a quick glance up the sky to know what was coming. _Bloody hell, not now, I need to go home_. He gripped the helm, a look of determination directed to the front. It seemed clear that he was going to have to fight nature to reach his family, but this time there would be nothing to stop him from getting it.


End file.
